


still I dream of it

by cassanabaratheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 23:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/pseuds/cassanabaratheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was down the shadowy vistas of his mind where the dead were raised to haunt his dreams. She knew well enough of who he dreamt of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still I dream of it

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bury Me Deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577323) by [ariel2me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me). 



> I realised that this would go quite nicely with Ariel's fic which I've linked and you should all read because it's fantastic.

It was not the warning whistle of the wind for the coming storm that woke her – she had long grown accustom to the ferocity of the weather here, able to stare straight at the tempest without flinching. In the throes of sleep she had felt it, a disturbance that caused her hand slide across the bed, hoping to brush fingers against warm skin and not cool emptiness. Unsettled, her heart jolted with dread and she opened her eyes, momentarily blind in the dark. Flashes of lightening allowed for the briefest illumination, enabling her to see him sitting by the unlit hearth, brooding, hunched over with elbows resting on knees and fingers steeped by his mouth and she breathed out a sigh. He was down the shadowy vistas of his mind where the dead were raised to haunt his dreams. She knew well enough of who he dreamt of.

 

They had not been long married when he had woken her in the middle of the night, gasping and trembling, crying out the name of a dead man. She had had to shake him away, half-terrified herself at the torment she saw on his face. Come morning, he had gone down to the shipyard (possibly to avoid her) to oversee the building of his new galley which he had already thought to name _Windproud_. She sat with troubled thoughts in her rooms, dully sewing with Lady Rhaelle and some of her ladies.

“Do you know of his night terrors?” she asked in a low voice so that only Rhaelle could hear and the older woman paused between her stitches to glance at her good-daughter, reading the concern on her face.

“Yes,” she murmured after a moment, pushing the needle through the fabric again. “Though I only know that it is of his father he sees. No more than that. He has not spoken of it to anyone.”

Cassana put down her work, having lost any desire to continue. She could not focus upon the tapestry and it showed in all the imperfections that she would have to unpick and re-do later. She turned to gaze out of the window that overlooked the bay. It was a calm day, the sea gently lapping at the strand and she watched the way the sunlight sparkled on the surface. Not for the first time she resisted the urge to discard everything just to go lie in the water for a while.

“Mayhap he will tell you,” Rhaelle said in light afterthought, drawing Cassana’s attention back. The girl looked at her with conflicting emotions of hope and doubt. If he had not spoken about it with his lady mother why should he with her?

But he did tell her. The second time it happened, his body shuddering and with desperate hands, he clutched her tight as if to say _you’re real, you’re here_. In hoarse whispers he told her all; the chilling caw of the crows that had already come down to peck at the dead and dying, of the dense mist that surrounded him so that he wandered in helpless circles until his father appeared, stumbling towards him, leaving a bloody trail behind. He would reach out just as black blood would spill from his mouth, gurgling and choking and Steffon could not help him though he tried. He would wake soon after this, shaken and heavy with guilt. It was almost two years past and he still felt the weight of his father dying in his arms, counting the rattles of his breath until the last and the way his eyes had remained open but unseeing and Steffon saw himself in those eyes, the ones of the dead.

 

Cassana carefully pushed herself up into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard which was cool against her back. He did not dream those dreams often, less so overtime, but they seemed to come particularly when she was with child. He worried about her, she knew, and those times she would wake in the night to find her bed empty, much the same as tonight.

Thunder rolled in the near-distance, edging closer to them and from the window she saw lightening fork the sky. She bit her bottom lip between her teeth. She loathed being without him.

“Steffon,” she coaxed in a gentle whisper, rousing him from his thoughts. “Come to bed, my love.”  The sound of her voice, soothing like a spell, beckoned him away from the nightmares and back to her. He raised his head, only now noticing how cold it was and that they were on the brink of a storm. He shivered as he rolled his stiffened shoulders.

She breathed with relief as his chilled body slid against her and she clasped his hands, warming them between her own, fluttering light kisses across his knuckles. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, half-pained, as he encircled her, pressing his face into the hollow of her neck, breathing her in, feeling her pulse beat against his lips. She ran her fingers through his hair, caressing his neck and shoulder blades through his nightshirt.

The storm had come upon them with the rain pelting angrily at the window and the wind howling in a frenzy. They could hear the roaring sound of the waves breaking against the rocks, trying as they had for so long to tear down the castle walls. Yet they were safe like this, inextricably joined in a way few could ever be.

He linked his hand with hers over the gentle swell of her stomach, marvelling the child to be, their third, and Cassana kissed Steffon’s forehead before resting hers against his.

“Cassana…” he began but she hushed him gently. She had no need to hear his words, she knew well enough without them.

She listened to his deep, even breaths that fell against her throat as he drifted off into calmer dreams. Only then she closed her eyes, half-aware in drowsy thought that the storm passed on, leaving behind clear skies for the breaking dawn.  


End file.
